


The Kool-Aid Man

by TheInevitableSense



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, Because There's Almost No Fluff, Break Up, Crying, I Really Hope You Weren't Looking For All Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Swearing, Unrequited Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 02:35:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10630368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheInevitableSense/pseuds/TheInevitableSense
Summary: Alexander Hamilton may be unmarked, but he does have an itch to scratch.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [I_write_sins_not_fanfiction](https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_write_sins_not_fanfiction/gifts).



> For I_write_sins_not_fanfiction.
> 
> I mean what I said in the tags. Soulmate AU's tend to be fluffy and happy but not this time motherfucker
> 
> (thanks be to my beta)

They don’t acknowledge each other.

Not in this bar or any of the others they spot each other at, watching the other try and pick up yet another stranger. At most, they share a brief moment of eye contact before parting, both scanning the crowd to find their real target. Tonight’s moment of locked gazes comes as Jefferson is chatting up a girl by the bathrooms and Alexander is leaning back on the bar talking to a boy who looks too young to be out of school, let alone drinking.

“Sorry,” the boy says, holding his glass of gin to his chest. “Unless your name is Harry, I’m not interested.” He turns and disappears into the crowd and Alexander rolls his eyes. _Damn romantics_ , he thinks, and his eyes light on Jefferson’s. His girl has left him leaning against the wall alone as well. They share a moment of understood frustration, then they both start searching the bar again, trying to find someone, _anyone_ , that might play.

Alexander doesn’t know why Jefferson does it, but it’s none of his business. Alexander, for his part, isn’t looking for love. It would be a useless endeavor to, the blankness of his right wrist tells him that. But Alexander is a man like any other, and while he doesn’t need companionship he does have certain itches that need to be scratched from time to time.

So that’s why he’s here, looking for that one person in the crowd that might be down to do a little scratching. Someone who hasn’t found their soulmate yet, but is willing to flit around until they do. Someone whose soulmate is dead, perhaps.

Alexander figures Jefferson is one of those. The other man has too many traditional ideas to be jumping around before he’s found his ‘one true love.’

So he watches as Jefferson pounces on the young man waiting for Harry, knowing how _that_ conversation will go, and Alexander starts to make his way over to a woman who just walked in. She looks old enough to have a dead man in her past.

\--------------

Most nights, Alexander can find someone.

Tonight, he’s had no such luck.

He struck out on Harry-boy, the older woman, even the fucking bartender won’t give him the time of day. _This is a damn bar in New York,_ Alexander thinks, glowering into a shot, _how could everyone here be a damn puritist?_

“Giving up already?” Jefferson's’ familiar drawl makes Alexander pick his head up. He scowls up at the man.

“I didn’t think we talked here,” he says pointedly. Jefferson shrugs.

“It’s three in the morning, you’ve started drinking and I’m about to.” Jefferson motions for the bartender, who nods in his direction. “We both struck out.” Jefferson asks the woman behind the bar for multiple shots, more than Alexander would ever try and drink in one go. He watches as the woman pours Jefferson almost six glasses of alcohol.

“So is this you trying to pick me up?” Alexander asks, swirling his vodka with one hand. Jefferson snorts.

“Oh hell no.”

“Good,” Alexander grumbles back. He downs his glass and taps for another. Jefferson knocks back two before they speak again.

“Your’s dead?” Alexander asks. Jefferson looks at him from out of the corner of his eye.

“Nope,” he says. Alexander blinks.

“So you’re soulmate cheating in public?” Alexander hisses. Jefferson grits his jaw, downs another shot and then tugs up his sleeve. Jefferson shoves his forearm underneath Alexander’s nose and for a second, Alexander can’t believe what he’s seeing.

“You don’t have one,” Alexander breaths. Jefferson shakes his head, pulling his arm back and shoving his sleeve back down. Alexander hesitates, then hikes up his own sleeve and shows Jefferson the blank skin there too. Jefferson’s eyes flash, he puts down his fourth shot without drinking it.

“I’ve never met another,” Jefferson says.

“I knew one other,” Alexander says. “A long time ago.”

They sit in silence for a moment, Alexander downing a second shot of vodka. Then Jefferson begins to chuckle lowly. “Look at us. Two anomalies getting wasted.”

“I’d rather be an anomaly than one of _them_ ,” Alexander jerks his head backwards, signaling the crowd at large. Jefferson frowns, fingers tapping against his shot.

“You wouldn’t rather have one?” Jefferson asks. Alexander shakes his head.

“I’ll live without all the bullshit.” Alexander motions for a third shot. He’s not drunk enough to have this conversation. “Waiting all your life to find one person? No thanks.”

“But it’s fate,” Jefferson counters.

“Fate is bullshit,” Alexander grumbles. “I’d rather choose how my life is going to be.” He looks back at the throng of people at his back. “But everyone’s so wrapped up in their ‘fate’ they don’t see what they’re missing out on.”

“Getting rejected by strangers and then getting wasted?” Jefferson asks. Alexander rolls his eyes.

“Of course you want one,” he mutters.

“It’s bad to want someone in my life?” Jefferson asks.

“No,” Alexander admits. “But you’ve drank the Kool-Aid. People need to realize that not everything is about your ‘special one.’”

Jefferson hums, downs the rest of his drinks, pays, and leaves. Alexander doesn’t watch him go, just continues to down shots until the world spins.

\---------------

“Been awhile,” Alexander mutters as Jefferson collapses into the barstool next to him. “You’ve been on a good streak.”

“Yeah,” is all Jefferson says. He orders his drinks and settles in. Alexander looks down into this first one. They’ve both given up around the same time tonight. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Jefferson tug up the arm of his sleeve. Alexander starts when he sees looping black writing on Jefferson’s skin.

Jefferson must catch him staring, because he just smiles sadly and reaches into his pocket. The taller man pulls out a little alcohol swab, tears it open and goes to work on the lettering on his arm. Alexander watches in mounting confusion as the wording there smudges and disappears.

“What the hell?” Alexander breathes.

“It’s how I’ve gotten my ‘good streak,’” Jefferson admits. Once most of the writing is gone, Jefferson pulls a black marker out from his pocket. “Chat someone up, get their full name, look really shocked…”

“You’re faking it,” Alexander says. Jefferson nods. “But the other person won’t have your name on their wrist.”

“Unrequited soulmates exist, Hamilton,” Jefferson reminds him. “They’re just another type of anomaly. The sob story gets me a night with someone.”

“You’re lying to them,” Alexander counters. Jefferson shrugs.

“Soulmate purity is bullshit, Unrequiteds prove that.”

“I mean, you’re right,” Alexander grits out. “But that doesn’t mean you should lie to these people.”

“I’m not doing any damage,” Jefferson counters.

“You could really hurt someone!”

Jefferson shakes his head. “I choose the ones that would be flattered by having an Unrequited. They revel in my ‘pain.’” He makes the little air-quotes sign with his fingers. “People are selfish, Hamilton. They like seeing their name on other people’s skin.”

“So why didn’t it work tonight?” Alexander counters. Jefferson shrugs.

“I misspelled the name.” Jefferson looks into his glass, downs it. Alexander looks at him for a moment, then shakes his head.

“Still a cruel thing to do,” he mutters. Jefferson hesitates, then picks up the marker from the bar top. A second later, Jefferson’s arm is in front of Alexander’s face, a new set of looping letters shining on the other man’s skin.

_Alexander Hamilton,_ it reads, and Alexander curses the way his heart stops. Jefferson smirks down at him.

“See? Doesn’t that evoke something in you?” Jefferson asks. “It’s a good feeling.”

“It’s disgust,” Alexander shoots back. “I told you, I don’t want a soulmate.”

“Ah, but you felt something for a second didn’t you?” Jefferson teases.

“Fuck off, Jefferson,” Alexander grumbles, downing his shot and standing from the bar. Jefferson shakes his head and offers the marker.

“Try it at a different bar, it works.”

“I said fuck off.” Alexander marches away from the bar. As he goes, he hears Jefferson call after him:

“You’ve drunk the Kool-Aid some too, Hamilton.”

\---------------

The third time they find themselves together at a bar something is different.

Maybe it’s because Alexander hasn’t gotten any in two weeks or maybe it’s because Alexander can’t seem to get the image of his name on Jefferson’s arm out of his head, but the moment Jefferson sits down Alexander jumps. He watches Jefferson scrub off a failed name from his arm with wide eyes.

“And so here we are again,” Jefferson mumbles.

“Haven’t seen you around,” Alexander observes. “Too busy to trick innocents?”

“Are you that desperate to go out looking every night?” Jefferson counters. Alexander eyes the man next to him for a moment. Neither of them have had anything to drink yet, and Jefferson is right. Alexander _is_ desperate. He hasn’t had anyone in his bed for far too long. The itching is getting out of hand.

“If I am?” Alexander asks, sliding his hand across the bar to cover Jefferson’s. An offer.

Jefferson cocks an eyebrow. “Are you _that_ desperate?”

“Aren’t you, to lie to these people?” Alexander grips onto Jefferson’s hand tighter. Jefferson bites his lip.

“If I am?” Jefferson turns his hand over to squeeze back. An acceptance.

\----------------

Jefferson leaves in the morning, long before Alexander wakes up. Alexander didn’t expect anything else. If they had gone to Jefferson’s place, Alexander would have done the same.

\----------------

They don’t do it again for another month. Once again, it’s after they both have a dry spell and find themselves sitting next to each other sober. This time it’s at Jefferson’s, and Alexander leaves just as early as Jefferson had.

\----------------

The third time Alexander finds himself falling asleep next to Jefferson, he realizes that he’s never slept with the same person three times before.

“What is this?” He asks, looking up at the ceiling.

“What do you think it is?” Jefferson asks, voice light as he waits for Alexander to pass out so he can leave. Alexander thinks for a moment, his still satisfied mind sluggish.

“Scratching an itch,” he responds. Jefferson hums in agreement.

\--------------

The eighth time is at Jefferson’s, and Alexander is waiting for the other man to start snoring before he peels himself from between Jefferson’s arms. This is the second time Jefferson has decided to hold Alexander post-sex, and Alexander doesn’t quite know what to think of it.

From his position, he can see the blank skin of Thomas’ lower arm. The memory of Alexander’s name scrawled there resurfaces and suddenly Alexander feels hollow. He pushes himself from Jefferson’s embrace, shaking away the feeling.

_I don’t need anyone, this is just scratching an itch,_ Alexander tells himself. _Stop drinking the Kool-Aid._

\-------------

“My mom didn’t have one,” Alexander admits one night, long after he’s lost count of how many nights this makes. “My brother did.” He’s staring at the empty expanse of Jefferson's’ arm as Jefferson cages him onto Alexander’ bed. They haven’t even started, it’s just the empty foreplay phase still.

Jefferson stops, sitting up and looking down at his own empty arm. “Huh,” he mutters. “Two in one family, eh?”

“Yeah,” Alexander offers lamely. Jefferson hums to himself, then looks back down at Alexander.

“What about your dad?” He asks. Alexander winces.

“I dunno,” he huffs. “What does it matter?”

Jefferson shrugs. “It doesn't.” He leans back down and goes back to the usual motions.

\------------------

Alexander chalks it up to a long week when he settles at the bar early one Friday night. He'd tried about three of his possible catches before giving up. He can spot almost five or so other options, but something in him just doesn't feel up for the chase.

He spots Jefferson leaving the bar arm-in-arm with some done up woman. Alexander swears he can see the faked name on Jefferson’s lower arm.

He excuses the sinking feeling in his chest as disgust for Jefferson’s tactics.

\---------------

Somehow they end up back at Alexander’s for the umpteenth time. They seem to alternate locations, which is fine for Alexander. Less laundry he has to do.

They wind up collapsed on each other, panting, Alexander on top and pressed into Thomas’ chest. As the post-orgasm haze fades from Alexander’s mind, he lets his head move with the rise and fall of Thomas’ breathing. Head tilted to the side, he can see where Thomas’ right arm is stretched out across the sheets.

Blurred from sweat and a rushed cleaning job is the black marker name that Thomas had tried before settling for Alexander. Alexander can’t read the words anymore, but it doesn’t matter. The smudged writing trails almost all the way down the inside of Thomas’ arm.

“My mother almost tattooed a name there when I was a baby,” Thomas says. Alexander glances up, sees that Thomas caught him staring at the faked mark. “But no one would do it for her. She hated that I was unmarked.”

“Nothing she could do about it,” Alexander mutters. Thomas sighed.

“Whenever I’d get in trouble or do say something douchey she’d tell me ‘this is why you don’t have a soulmate Thomas.’” Thomas picks up his arm and tucks it behind his head, and looks up at the ceiling. “Kids used to pick on me, said I was destined to die alone.”

“They technically weren’t wrong.”

Thomas looks down at Alexander, one eyebrow raised. “I thought you didn’t believe in fate,” he says. Alexander frowns, then pushes himself up so he’s kneeling between Thomas’ still-spread legs.

“Would you have rathered your mom did get a fake mark tattooed on you?” He asks.

Without hesitation, Thomas replies: “Yes.”

Alexander’s frown deepens. “If your mom had written say… the name ‘Martha’ on your arm, you would have rather spent your entire life looking for a woman that didn’t exist? You never would have found her, every ‘Martha’ you’d meet would have someone else on their arm. You still would have died alone, wondering if maybe you just missed her somehow.”

“At least I would have been normal,” Thomas replies. “Instead of being an anomaly like you.”

“I rather like being an anomaly,” Alexander huffs.

“So you’ve said.” Thomas gently pushes on Alexander’s side, and Alexander lets the other man guide him down to the bed. “Now go to sleep. We’ve got work in the morning.”

\-----------------

Alexander manages to score with some cute, flirty twenty-something that says he’s an unrequited and trying to move past it. The man’s been around, knows a few tricks that even Alexander doesn’t. It’s good, it’s rough, it’s devoid of emotion; exactly as Alexander usually likes it. It should scratch his itch in just the right way.

It’s the first time Alexander has slept with someone other than Thomas in a while.

Somehow, Alexander finds himself hating every second of it.

\-----------------

When Alexander arrives at the usual bar, he doesn’t even try to talk anyone up anymore. He weaves the through the crowd, putting up a show before inevitably choosing his usual seat at the bar. He watches Jefferson from the corner of his eye, hoping that the little twink Jefferson is trying his usual ploy on will reject him.

The unrequited two weeks ago wasn’t the last, Alexander had gone through a hot streak that had still left him itching at the end of each encounter. Nothing was soothing it, not the young woman, not the older man; not even the little threesome he somehow lucked into got him where he needed to go.

So Jefferson was it. If Jefferson didn’t manage to get rid of that nagging need inside Alexander, then he’d just have to move on. Stop sleeping around and try to find relief somewhere else. A bottle maybe, or a joint. A syringe, if he gets that desperate.

Alexander sees the tell-tale signs of Jefferson’s plot failing and there’s a snap of emotion curling in his chest. Relief, excitement, and a little hint of something else. He doesn’t think about it too hard, Jefferson is slinking his way over to the bar. He doesn’t even let Thomas sit down before he’s flashing his bedroom eyes at the other man. Thomas cocks an eyebrow.

“Impatient, are we?” But Thomas offers Alexander his hand long enough to pull Alexander from his stool and then quickly drops the contact.

_I’ve been waiting on you,_ Alexander thinks, but bites down on the statement before it leaves his mouth. It tastes too much like Kool-Aid. So instead he says: “I just want to get this over with.” Thomas grunts an agreement and leads Alexander back to his apartment.

\----------------

Thomas comes closer to scratching Alexander’s itch than anyone else, but he still doesn’t quite make it. It’s disappointing, feeling the dissatisfaction as he watches Thomas fall asleep next to him. As Thomas’ breathing evens and deepens, Alexander consigns himself to giving up his bed-hopping.

Alexander lies on Thomas’ plush blankets, feeling the drowsiness start to creep up. Thomas really does have a better mattress than Alexander does, and he feels himself sink into the expensive foam beneath him. It’s a shame he has to get up and leave, that he won’t ever actually sleep in this bed…

Unless he does. _I could just… fall asleep here too,_ Alexander realizes. _If I’m not going to be sleeping around anymore, might as well._ So Alexander closes his eyes, deciding firmly to do the one thing he’s never done before.

Stay until morning.

Alexander manages to catch a few hours before he’s woken up by the strange feeling of sleeping in a strange bed in a strange room. Except it only feels strange now that the early morning sunlight is creeping in Thomas’ windows and Alexander can get a good look around for the very first time.

Thomas is still asleep beside him, but at some point in the night had wrapped his arms around a sleeping Alexander. The hollowness that normally accompanies this position is oddly absent this morning, as Alexander blinks himself back into consciousness, but it’s nice not to feel so empty.

The room has lightened even more by the time that Alexander finally wriggles out of Thomas’ embrace, and Alexander tries not to think about how long he let himself lie there. He silently pulls on his clothes and tiptoes his way out of Thomas’ bedroom.

As he picks his way across the living room Alexander considers just leaving, but he decides against it. If he’s staying until morning, he’s doing this right. So instead of heading out the front door, he makes a small detour into Thomas’ kitchen and starts searching his pantry. He ends up raiding the fridge too, pulling out cartons of eggs and a frozen bag of hash browns.

There’s not enough stuff to make a good omelet so Alexander settles for breakfast burritos. It’s not the most elegant of ‘thanks for this but it’s not happening again’ meals, but it’ll have to do. Thomas does have tortillas, though they are the crappy store-brand stuff. _If I had enough time, I’d make some by hand_ , Alexander thinks, but he just goes about making scrambled eggs. He might be sticking around for breakfast, but that doesn’t mean he wants to be here any longer than he has to be.

Alexander keeps an eye on the eggs as he chops peppers, making sure they don’t burn. He easily multitasks, even managing to warm up the hash browns while cutting onions once the eggs are finished. The sizzling of the hash browns almost masks the sound of heavy footsteps coming towards the kitchen.

Alexander turns around to find Jefferson, half dressed, standing in the kitchen doorway with a baseball bat in hand. He lets out a heavy breath and lowers it, and Alexander realizes he was ready to swing.

“Good morning, Jackie Robinson,” Alexander says, turning over the half-cooked potatoes with a spatula. “Are we playing baseball this early in the morning?”

“I thought you were gone and that there was someone else in my house,” Jefferson breathes, tension draining from his shoulders.

“Nope, just me.” Alexander turns back around, watching the clear shreds turn brown.

“Give me a fucking heart attack, would you?” Jefferson grumbles, leaning the bat against the wall. “What are you even still doing here?”

“Bungee jumping, what does it look like?”

Alexander can sense how hard Jefferson rolls his eyes, he doesn’t even have to look back. He hears Thomas mutter to himself and slide into a kitchen chair. Alexander glances to the side, and gets an eyeful of a shirtless Thomas Jefferson.

“Uh, excuse me? Do you expect me to serve you?” Alexander asks. “I don’t even know where you keep your damn plates.”

“Why not? You went digging through everything else.” Jefferson’s voice still carries the last tendrils of sleep, even despite the man’s early-morning scare.

“Just get them, you big oaf,” Alexander teases. Jefferson lets out a huge sigh, one Alexander can tell is more for show than an actual expression of frustration, and heaves himself to his feet. Jefferson makes a production of dragging his feet, making his way over to Alexander before reaching up and opening a high shelf.

“Right here.” Jefferson pulls down a couple of nice places with the sound of ceramic scraping ceramic. Alexander shoots him a look, seeing how high up Jefferson has to reach to get them down in the first place.

“I _never_ would have reached that,” he says, pointing at the cabinet with his spatula. Jefferson looks down at Alexander, eyes alight in mirth.

“My apologies, you’re completely right. I forgot how tiny you are,” he says, but Alexander can hear the gentle mockery in the other man’s voice.

“Hey, fuck off,” Alexander shoots back, but he feels his mouth turn up at the corners. And just like that, Jefferson is smiling down at him too, holding the plates so the edge cuts into his stomach.

“Big words for a little gremlin.”

Alexander rolls his eyes. “Shut up you skyscraper,” he says. Jefferson chuckles, and then leans down and plants a small kiss on Alexander’s cheek.

Alexander feels his face heat up at it, even though the kiss is so short he almost thinks he imagined it. He breaks out into a smile, savoring how he can still feel the ghost of Thomas’ lips on his cheek. As Thomas moves away, Alexander realizes that the itch is gone now. Gone just like the hollowness. This, making breakfast and sharing it with Thomas, is actually really nice and-

_Holy shit I’m drinking the Kool-Aid._

Alexander freezes where he’s started to scrape the hash browns on a plate. What the hell is he thinking? What is he _doing?_ The contentedness suddenly sours, churning in his gut like spoiled food.

“So is this something we do now?” Jefferson asks, plates clinking against wood as he puts them down on the table. His tone is light, conversational and bile crawls up Alexander’s throat at the sound of it.

“Attack each other with bats?” Alexander says, the words spilling out harshly. In the corner of his vision, he sees Jefferson stiffen, drawing himself up to full height. He opens his mouth to speak, but Alexander beats him to it.

“Anyway I have to go.” Alexander doesn’t even wait to scrape the rest of the hash browns onto the plate before tossing the frying pan back on the stove. He checks his pockets to make sure he has everything as he makes his way to the front door.

“Everything alright?” Jefferson asks, and the concern in his voice sends a shiver down Alexander’s spine. Alexander grits his jaw and pushes his way around the table.

“Yeah, I just remembered I have a thing.” Alexander doesn’t look at Jefferson as he marches over to the door. He pulls it open and escapes out into the hallway, but not quite fast enough to escape hearing Jefferson start to speak again.

“Wait, Alexan-” But Alexander is gone. He flees the apartment without a second thought, embracing the hollowness as it returns to him.

At least it’s familiar.

\----------------

They go back to not acknowledging each other, and Alexander even tries to avoid those brief glimpses of eye contact they used to share. He can feel Jefferson’s gaze on him, even as he leaves the bar with another stranger.

Despite his promise to himself, he can’t force himself into a bottle or a joint, and besides Alexander has to prove that the morning with Jefferson doesn’t change anything. No one scratches the growing itch or fills that aching hollowness in his chest, but at least he’s not waking up to Jefferson again.

And then one night he can’t seem to hook anyone, and Alexander finds himself falling into his old habits- vodka shots alone at the bar. The first one is placed on the countertop before him and he goes to down it-

A hand comes down on top of the shot glass and pushes the drink back down to the bar.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

Alexander doesn’t need to look up to know it’s Jefferson looming over him, that it’s Jefferson’s hand that’s stopping him from escaping into the cold numbness of alcohol.

“How observant of you,” Alexander drawls back, trying to pull his glass out from under Jefferson’s hand, but the other man keeps it pinned to the bar.

“Why?”

Alexander’s brow furrows. “Why do you care?” He tugs on the glass, getting nowhere. Jefferson’s downward force is too strong. Jefferson is silent, and Alexander looks up for the first time. There’s an obvious conflict playing out across his face and Alexander cocks an eyebrow. “You’re not reading into the breakfast thing, are you?”

Jefferson starts, blinking down at the seated man. “What do you mean?”

“You’re not thinking that just because I made you food, it means something, right?” Alexander asks. “I was just hungry.”

“You left before you could eat,” Jefferson counters.

“I told you, I had a thing,” Alexander grumbles, looking back down at the trapped shot and shifting on his stool. Jefferson makes a little noise, something akin to a growl, in the back of his throat.

“Do you wanna go back to my place?” Jefferson asks. Alexander hates the way his body shivers at the thought, despises the little rush of heat in his stomach more.

“No,” he snaps back. Jefferson’s hand clenches around the shot and he finally slides into the stool next to Alexander. Jefferson pulls the shot away from him, setting it far enough down the bar that Alexander can’t reach it. “Hey, give that-”

“Why are you acting so goddamned weird?” Jefferson asks. Alexander huffs.

“Give me my drink, I paid for that.”

“Answer the question,” Jefferson pushes. Alexander crosses his arms and glowers at him.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” he spits. “You’re not my soulmate.” At his words, something flashes across Jefferson’s face, something he’s never seen before. It looks almost like… like _hurt_. While a distant part of Alexander’s brain chimes in that he never wants to see that expression on Jefferson’s face again, most of it is caught up in the disbelief coursing through him.

“You did,” Alexander mutters, understanding coming to him. “You _did_ read into it.”

“I did no such thi-” Alexander interrupts the other man, a wicked smile on his face turning into laughter.

“Oh my god. I can’t believe it. You think”- Alexander chuckles darkly- “You think I made breakfast because I care about you?” The silence from Jefferson is all the answer Alexander needs. Alexander puts a hand to his face, laughing through his fingers. “That’s got to be the most pathetic thing I’ve ever heard.”

Jefferson’s jaw sets, his hands curl on the bar top. “What was I supposed to think?” He growls. “People don’t stay in the morning because they’re just hungry.”

“Newsflash, asshole,” Alexander mocks, “that’s exactly what I did. You had food and I didn’t want to spend a cent for breakfast.” The lie feels dirty rolling off his tongue, but he can’t stop now. “You do remember why we even fuck in the first place, right? We’re unmarked for a reason, douchebag.” Alexander leans closer to Jefferson, like he’s spilling some big secret, but it’s the truth they’ve been sharing their entire lives.

“We. Are. Unlovable.” Alexander watches Jefferson’s face for any hint of emotion, any reaction. “We’re unlovable! Even by other unlovable people, we can’t be loved. You and I are destined to die alone, like we deserve. Trying to pretend or act differently is just buying into the whole bullshit. We don’t get a happy ending, Jefferson. Stop living in a fairytale.

“You haven’t just drank the Kool-Aid, you chugged a whole damn gallon of it.” With that, Alexander leans away from Jefferson. Without another word, Alexander hops off his stool, slides around Jefferson and snatches his drink from the bar. He downs it in one mouthful, slams the glass back down, and marches to the door.

Alexander glances back, just for a second, to see Jefferson sitting in the same place, staring at the spot Alexander had been sitting. A little curl of guilt settles in Alexander’s stomach, but he pushes it away. _I only spoke the truth_ , he justifies. He leaves, letting the bar door slam behind him.

\----------------

Jefferson stops showing up at the bar. It’s not unusual for the other man to disappear for a period of time if work is busy, but Alexander has the creeping feeling that work isn’t busy. Jefferson is gone for a different reason.

\----------------

The bartender tells Alexander that Jefferson hasn’t even been by on days Alexander hasn’t been here. None of the regulars have seen him either.

The curl of guilt grows bigger.

\----------------

Alexander suddenly realizes that he’s not coming to the bar to pick anyone up anymore; he wants to see if Jefferson comes back at all. He figures this out when he spends the third night in a row sitting silently in a corner, scanning the room for the tell-tale sign of that cloud of hair Jefferson has. Alexander hasn’t even tried to take anyone home in two weeks, not really. A few half-hearted attempts here and there, sure, but nothing serious.

Which leads Alexander to question why he’s looking for Jefferson at all.

\----------------

It takes Alexander another two days to realize he wants to apologize for the things he said.

\----------------

The guilt nips at Alexander’s heels all the way up to Jefferson’s front door. He can’t sit around and wait for the man to show anymore, and if he has to go to him, then so be it. Alexander trudges up the stairs to Jefferson’s apartment, steeling himself for what’s going to be one of the worst conversations of his life.

When he reaches the wood-paneled door, Alexander hesitates. He really doesn’t want to do this, but he does at the same time. The frustrating paradox of desires makes him raise his hand and knock on the front door.

He gets no immediate answer, so Alexander knocks again, a bit louder this time. Another moment goes by without even a ‘I’ll be there in a second’ and Alexander bites his lip. He knocks on the door harder, briskly rapping his knuckles in a steady rhythm.

Still nothing.

Alexander goes to knock again when a cough behind him stops him. “He’s not home,” a voice says. Alexander turns to find a man- one shorter than him- standing in the open doorway of another apartment.

“Do you know when he’ll be back?” Alexander asks. The other man tilts his head, the shrugs.

“Dunno. Said he had a business meeting out of the country. I’m house sitting,” the neighbor explains.

“Oh,” is all Alexander can say. He starts trying to think of other ways to contact the man, how to get his number-

“You wouldn’t be Hamilton, would you?” The neighbor asks. Alexander starts, but nods. The neighbor sighs. “Look, buddy. Thomas said that if you showed up to tell you… to tell you that you were right and not to bother trying to call him or something.”

“He said that?” Alexander asks, heart sinking. The neighbor nods. “Okay, thanks.” Alexander turns away, trying to process what he’s been told. Thomas doesn’t want to talk to him, doesn’t even want to be in the same country anymore.

As he plodded back down the stairs, Alexander realizes that he messed up, that Thomas is really gone.

\----------------

“My sister seems to have taken quite an interest in you.”

The strange woman smiles, tossing her dark curls over her shoulder. Alexander follows her motion to see another young woman in a blue dress looking at him from across the club. She catches him looking and blushes, ducking her head and staring down into her drink. Alexander has never been to this club before- he’s trying to find places that don’t remind him of Jefferson.

Alexander shifts his gaze back to the woman who spoke to him. “Oh?” He asks, smiling slightly. He came here to get drunk, but if he can score, he’ll take it. The woman nods her head and leans away from Alexander’s bar stool.

“Come on,” she says, standing up and leading the way through the throng of people. Alexander instantly starts after her, doing his best to keep up with her long strides.

“I didn’t catch your name!” He shouts over the music. She smiles down at him.

“Angelica,” she replies, and suddenly they’ve reached her more bashful sister. She’s beautiful; bright eyes and dark hair that frames her face and cascades down her shoulders. Alexander can’t see how he could do worse.

“Hi,” he says, his smile growing as he sees the way she shoots her sister a quick death glare.

“Hi,” she squeaks back, her gaze coming back to him and her face flushes pink again. It turns even darker when she notices Alexander obviously checking her out. Angelica rolls her eyes and grabs her sister by the shoulder.

“Eliza here was just telling me how much she lo- _ow!_ ” Angelica’s hand flies to her side where her sister’s elbow had just jabbed into it.

“Ignore her,” the woman in the blue dress says. “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

“Well,” Alexander starts, “I have to agree. She said you were beautiful, but said nothing about being stunning.” Eliza’s cheeks somehow turn an even darker shade of red and her voice stutters when she speaks again.

“What’s your name?” She asks. Alexander feels his heart clench up.

“Alexander Hamilton,” he says, “and I know you won’t…” he trails as both women’s eyes go wide. Their heads snap towards each other and suddenly Eliza is reaching for the sleeve of her dress. Alexander watches with confusion as she pulls it up to her elbow, examines her arm and then holds it out for Alexander to see.

There, in the flashing lights of the club, Alexander can make out the printed letters of his own name.

His heart skips a beat. He rushes forward, grabbing Eliza by the wrist and elbow and dragging her forearm closer to his face. _Alexander Hamilton,_ it reads. Plain as day: _Alexander Hamilton._

“Holy shit,” he breathes, not quite believing what he’s seeing but it’s there. _Alexander Hamilton._ His heart is hammering in his chest as he stares, jaw dropped, at the lettering on Eliza’s arm. Eliza squeals, bouncing on her heels.

“Elizabeth Schuyler,” Eliza says, and Alexander looks up. Her face is lit up in joy, breathless hope that pulls Alexander crashing back down to earth. Numbly, he lets go of her arm. She must see something on his face because Eliza’s smile starts to fade.

“What’s wrong?” She asks. “Am I not…”

Alexander doesn’t want to say it. He doesn’t want to break the illusion that maybe he just found his soulmate with the fact that he doesn’t have one. Slowly, trying to hold on to that tendril of happiness he felt for just a second, Alexander pulls up his own shirt sleeve and bares his blank arm to the two women.

Eliza’s face contorts into confusion, peering down at Alexander’s arm like maybe her name is just printed really tiny. Angelica looks over her sister’s shoulder, eyes flicking rapidly between Alexander’s arm, his face, and Eliza’s face.

“Lizzie...” Angelica starts. Eliza tilts her head.

“I’m an unrequited… to an unmarked?” She asks, just loud enough for Alexander to hear over the music.

“Maybe it’s the wrong Alexander Hamilton,” Angelica suggests. Alexander nods, lowering his arm and pulling his sleeve back down gingerly. Eliza looks up at her sister, pain and confusion still shimmering in her eyes.

“Papa always said we’d know when we found the right one.” Eliza grabs onto Angelica’s hand. “I picked him out from across the party.” Her voice is quiet, words slow as she tries to process what this all means.

“Maybe we should talk,” Alexander says.

\---------------

They sit outside the club, on the curb, Alexander’s jacket underneath Eliza so her dress doesn’t get dirty from the sidewalk. Angelica and her boyfriend/soulmate- a guy named John Church, Alexander thinks- stand just far enough out of earshot to give Alexander and Eliza some privacy. They sit in heavy silence, neither of them knowing what to say. Surely neither of them had ever prepared for this situation.

“Can I”- Alexander coughs in an attempt to alleviate the pressure in his chest and stomach- “Can I see it again?”

Eliza hesitates, but looks down at her arm and Alexander knows that she knows what he means. Slowly, she pulls up her sleeve again and shows him his name printed right there. He notices that she doesn’t look at it herself, but Alexander’s eyes are glued to it.

_Alexander Hamilton_.

“I never thought I’d see that,” Alexander admits. He still feels breathless just looking at it. Eliza smiles, but it looks almost bitter.

“I spent my whole life looking for you,” she says, pulling her arm back. Alexander winces and looks down at the street.

“You’ll have to understand when I can’t say the same.”

Eliza nods, cradling her marked hand into her stomach, holding herself with both hands. Silence, the kind louder than thunder, booms between them. The street is noisy, but Alexander feels like he’s living in a little bubble with Eliza and Eliza only.

“Well,” Eliza says with a heavy sigh, “This sucks.”

Alexander snorts, and Eliza breaks out into giggles. For a moment, they just smile at each other, like they’re old friends instead of… whatever they are.

“So what do we do about it?” Alexander asks. Eliza’s shoulders droop, her body relaxing as she thinks.

“I’d like to be in your life, get to know you, be your friend…” she trails. Alexander blinks, obviously taken aback. Eliza starts, throws her hands up in a surrender pose and adds: “Only if you want me to, I understand if you don’t-”

“Of course you can,” Alexander interrupts. Eliza falls silent, hands drifting back down into her lap. “I’d like to get to know you too.” Alexander looks down at ground and keeps talking. “I… I never thought I had a soulmate. Or, I guess _I_ don’t, you do?” He runs a hand through his hair, scratching his head. “How do you describe this?”

Eliza just shrugs. “However we want to describe it, I guess.” Alexander looks up at her, sees the gentle expression on her face, and instantly knows that this is a woman he could be friends with. Then she bites at her lip, obviously torn up about something, and Alexander wants nothing but to take that conflict away.

“What is it?” He asks. Eliza gives him a sad smile.

“Just a stupid thought,” she says. Alexander shakes his head.

“Tell me,” he presses. Eliza sighs, hesitates and then speaks slowly.

“I… I was just wondering if… if you’d give me one date?” She asks. “I know I’m not your soulmate, but you’re mine and I… I’ve been waiting around my whole life and… I was… it’s stupid. You don’t-”

“I’ll take you on a date,” Alexander says instantly. Eliza starts, she starts to protest but Alexander cuts her off. “Please, I’d like it. We could just… pretend for one night.”

“Are you sure?” She asks, hope trembling her voice. Alexander nods and smiles, and instantly a blinding grin splits Eliza’s face.

“I’ll give you my number, we can set something up,” she says, reaching for her purse. Alexander, without thinking, reaches over and grabs her by the shoulder.

“The night’s still young,” he says. “Wanna go get pizza?” Eliza stops, eyes widening. Silently, she nods, slowly at first, and then faster.

“I’ll tell Angelica not to wait up.” Eliza gets to her feet, looks down at Alexander, and can’t stop the little squeal of excitement that escapes her lips. Instantly, she looks mortified and turns away quickly. Alexander can’t fight the smile on his face as he watches Eliza skip back over to her sister and start talking in hushed tones.

He finally understands how Jefferson’s ploy always worked so well.

\----------------

Alexander thinks he hates the universe for what it’s done to Eliza. _It’s not fair_ , he thinks. Eliza has got to be the kindest, sweetest human being he’s ever met, and the universe had to go and give her a soulmate that isn’t hers. An unlovable asshole of a not-soulmate at that.

_Eliza deserves so much better_ , he thinks, watching her laugh, a slice of pizza halfway to her mouth. Her hand covers her mouth, painted nails covering any hint of half-chewed food as she laughs.

Pizza turns into a walk in a park, filled with Eliza’s melodic voice and tinkling laughter. Alexander finds he can’t tear his eyes from her as she picks her way around rocks by the stream. They chat about anything and everything, and it’s the easiest conversation Alexander has ever had.

Alexander realizes he’s forgotten to pretend he’s on a date, that he can’t fall in love with her.

\---------------

One date turns into two, turns into three, turns into four. Each time, there’s an unspoken question between them, but neither of them wants to voice it in case it all comes crashing down. For the first time, Alexander is legitimately happy to be this intimate with someone; but it’s a different type of intimacy. They haven’t even kissed, and when he takes her hand it feels unlike anything he’s ever experienced.

It’s not better than Jefferson, it’s just different.

Alexander tries not to compare what he has with Eliza to what he had with Jefferson, but every once in a while the man crosses his mind. He does his best to push him away, and succeeds on occasion, but he still feels Jefferson lingering in the back of his mind. Jefferson had filled that hollowness inside him completely, but Eliza is starting to bit by bit.

\---------------

“Hey, we should talk.”

It’s the fifth date, Eliza is cooking him dinner at her apartment and Alexander has just been watching with pure adoration from his seat at the table. Eliza’s hands still where she’s chopping pepper and she looks up at him slowly, fear in her eyes.

“Is this _the_ talk?” She asks, quietly. Alexander starts, sitting fully up in confusion.

“What?” He asks. She looks at him with a forlorn expression, and puts the knife down.

“I’m sorry,” she starts. “I… I know I shouldn’t be considering these get-togethers ‘dates’ but I was hoping you wouldn’t notice and I could pretend just for a little while longer…” she trails. Alexander watches her hands curl on the countertop and he realizes what she thinks this is.

“No! No no no.” He shoots up from his seat, striding over to her side. “I’ve been considering these dates too.” Eliza looks at him in shock, a slightest curl of hope unfolding on her face. They haven’t known each other for very long, but Alexander can already read her like a book. “And I don’t want to stop.”

Eliza’s eyes dart to his lower arm, even though his sleeve covers his empty expanse of skin. “But-”

Alexander reaches over and takes her hands in his. “I’ve been thinking,” he starts. “I’ve spent my entire life assuming that, because I don’t have a name, I can’t find someone to love or someone to love _me_.” He runs his thumbs across the back of her hands. “But last night I realized that it just means I can _choose_ who I want to love, I’m not locked into anything like everyone else.”

Eliza looks at him, guarded confusion on her face. Alexander sees she’s not following his train of thought, but that’s okay. “And I was hoping that, if you’d let me, I could choose you.” He picks up one of her hands and plants a small kiss on her knuckles. Understanding floods Eliza’s face, and she throws her arms around Alexander’s neck.

“Yes. Yes, of course,” she breathes, the relief and joy is palpable in her voice. Alexander melts under her touch and the sound of her voice.

Kool-Aid doesn’t taste so bad when it’s made for _you_.

\---------------

The first time he kisses her, Alexander thinks he’s going to die on the spot. It’s so soft and gentle, nothing compared to the forceful, rough kisses he and Jefferson shared.

Why is he thinking about Jefferson when he’s kissing a woman he loved?

\--------------

Alexander pushes open the bar door for her, letting her go first as always. “I used to come here all the time,” he says. “Bartender mixes the best drinks in town.” They choose a booth by the wall and a waitress hands them a basket of peanuts. They decide to split an order of fries and order their drinks.

Alexander holds Eliza’s hand over the table as she tells him about something Angelica and her did as children. From the way her arm is lying, Alexander can just see the tops of the letters of his name. She’s wearing that top that makes her chocolate eyes pop and a necklace Angelica gave her for a birthday long ago shines just above the collar.

They start drinking, Alexander getting actual drafts of beer instead of the usual shots. He catches the eye of the bartender and she gives him a little eyebrow wiggle. He just smiles and turns his attention back to Eliza.

He’s laughing, head almost thrown back, when he sees the door open. The mass of hair and purple jacket let him know exactly who it is. Instantly, his laughter dies and he ducks his head.

“Something wrong?” Eliza asks, glancing over her shoulder towards the door.

“It’s nothing,” Alexander says, but he can’t stop his eyes from flicking over towards Jefferson as the man weaves his way over to the bar. Jefferson glances around the bar, and Alexander _thinks_ Jefferson sees him, but Alexander looks away quickly. Eliza is looking at him with concern.

“Are you sure?” Eliza says. “Who is that?”

“No one,” Alexander lies. He’s hoping Jefferson didn’t see him. _Not that it matters if he did,_ Alexander thinks, _he’s the one who left._ “Just an old… acquaintance.”

“Do you want to leave?” Eliza asks. She, too, has gotten too good at reading him.

“No, it’s fine.” Alexander will eat his shirt before he lets Jefferson scare him off. “What were we talking about?”

Eliza presses her lips into a line, looks over at Jefferson one last time, then sighs. “Angie and John moving to London.”

“Right, right.” Alexander does his best to focus on his girlfriend, his _soulmate_ , but the knowledge that Jefferson is just on the other side of the bar nags at him. He keeps his eyes glued stubbornly to Eliza, but can’t help but wonder if Jefferson is looking this way.

“She _says_ she’ll call every day, but I know her. She’s not one for phone calls,” Eliza is saying. “But I promise you, she’ll text us both all day.”

“Oh, the horror,” Alexander teases. Eliza giggles, she kicks her feet under the table until she traps Alexander in a game of footsie.

“If I were you, I’d count my lucky stars she likes you.” Eliza stirs her drink with a straw. “She told me she’d kick my soulmate’s ass if he turned out to be a jerk.”

“Believe me, I do,” Alexander says. “Angelica’s wrath is not something _I_ want to incur-”

“Alexander?”

_Oh no._ Alexander’s mouth clicks shut. Eliza turns her head to look at the man now standing at the edge of their table.

“Can we help you?” She asks, squeezing Alexander’s hand. Alexander bites the bullet and turns. Jefferson, a glass in hand, looks down at the two of them. His eyes are hard, jaw set, and Alexander thinks he sees the man’s knuckles pale around his drink.

“Just wanted to say ‘hi,’” Jefferson's says tersely. Alexander glares up at him.

“You said it,” he shoots back. “Now say goodbye.”

Both Jefferson and Eliza frown, the former’s frown condescending and the latter’s concerned. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your _friend_?” Jefferson asks, almost sneers.

“Eliza Schuyler,” she says, sticking her free hand out. Jefferson snaps his head to look at her, as if he wasn’t expecting her to speak again.

“Thomas Jefferson,” he says, taking her hand. “You wouldn’t happen to be related to Angelica Schuyler, would you?”

Eliza’s eyes narrow. “Yeah, she’s my older sister.”

Jefferson blinks, then smiles. “What a small world, I went to college with her.”

Eliza’s eyes widen, lit up in recognition. “ _The_ Thomas Jefferson?” Jefferson chuckles.

“I would think so. How is she?”

“She’s well! She found John Church.”

“Good for her,” Jefferson says, though it’s with the tiniest bit of bitterness.

“How have you been?” Eliza asks. Alexander watches their exchange with growing anger. His hand clenches around Eliza’s, and she glances at him briefly before turning back to Jefferson.

“Fine, I was in France for about a month. Just got back, actually.”

“Really,” Eliza says, awe in her voice. Jefferson smiles.

“Yep. Glad to be back in the states.” Jefferson glances over at Alexander again, and his face falls. “So how do you know Alexander hm?”

“We’re soulmates,” Alexander cuts in. Eliza smiles and nods, looking back at Alexander again. Jefferson’s eyebrows fly to the top of his face.

“Your… soulmate?” Jefferson repeats.

“Mhm!” Eliza looks at Alexander like he hung the moon and Alexander feels some of his anger melt away under her gaze.

“Sorry, I just had to make sure that’s what he said,” Jefferson starts. “Because you know he’s-”

“Unmarked, yep,” Eliza says. She pulls her hand from Alexander’s long enough to show Jefferson his name printed there. “But he’s mine.” Jefferson scans her arm, right hand clutching at the bottom of his sleeve.

“We’re working it out,” Alexander interjects. Jefferson's’ eyes slide to him, and he frowns.

“Never thought you as one for hypocrisy,” he drawls. Alexander scowls, but Eliza grabs his hand again. “Suddenly developed a taste for Kool-Aid, have you?”

“Hey, why don’t you fuck off and mind your own damn business,” Alexander growls. Eliza stiffens with a sharp inhale, but Jefferson is already speaking again.

“Forgive me, Eliza dear,” his tone is completely different when speaking to her, almost respectful. “I’m sure you’re a sweet girl and it’s not your fault whose name you got born with. I don’t mean to be insulting your soulmate”- he says the word like it hurts him to pronounce- “but Alexander here and I have a little history, so if you don’t mind…”

Jefferson turns back to Alexander, burning anger in his eyes. “You motherfucking piece of shit,” he spits. Heat rushes to Alexander’s face as Jefferson glares at him. “You give me all this about how we’re ‘unlovable’ only to turn around and buy into having your own ‘soulmate.’”

“I have someone who can love me,” Alexander snaps back, “Good luck finding someone to even put up with you.”

Jefferson’s nostrils flare, and a moment later Alexander finds himself covered in dark liquor. Eliza gasps, and Jefferson lowers his now empty glass. He slams it down on the table, whirls and marches away. Alexander watches him go, jaw dropped in shock. Alcohol drips off his face as Eliza grabs napkins from the dispenser on the table. Jefferson drops himself onto a bar stool, holding his right arm onto the counter and staring at it.

“Oh my,” Eliza breathes, reaching over the table to start dabbing up the spill. Alexander doesn’t move, frozen in rage. He can feel his whole body heat up, he swears the liquor is going to evaporate from it. “Let’s clean this up and get out of here, okay?”

Alexander almost nods, almost helps her dab up the drink. He almost stands, follows her out of the bar and almost tries to forget about Jefferson. He almost goes home with her, almost curls up on her couch and almost watches a movie with her until they both fall asleep.

_Almost_ being the operational word.

Instead, he rockets out of the booth, leaving a flabbergasted Eliza behind. He stomps across the bar, making his way to Jefferson’s side with the fury of a thousand suns roaring behind him. He finds Jefferson hunched over an empty shot glass, a finger tracing black lettering on his arm. _His failed conquest,_ Alexander thinks.

Without hesitation, before Jefferson can spot him standing there, Alexander grabs another customer’s tall draft and dumps it on Jefferson’s head.

The beer goes everywhere, on Jefferson, across the counter, even some onto Alexander himself. The bar goes dead silent, gasps of shock being the only sounds. That, and hurried footsteps behind Alexander. Jefferson gapes at Alexander, left hand clutching the now running letters on his right arm.

“ _Alexander Hamilton,_ ” Eliza hisses, grabbing onto Alexander’s shoulder. _Oh, it was her footsteps_. Eliza apologizes to the bartender and Jefferson, dragging Alexander out of the bar as the bartender offers Jefferson a towel. The moment they hit the outside air, Eliza whirls on him.

“What the hell, Alex?” She snaps. Alexander, still feeling the thrumming rage in his veins, yanks his arm out of Eliza’s grip.

“He started it,” Alexander says. Eliza’s lip curls.

“That doesn’t mean you had to retaliate!” Her hands clench into fists at her sides as they stand in the middle of the parking lot. “What the hell has gotten into you?!”

“Jefferson deserved it! He’s an asshole, don’t let him fool you.”

“God, Alexander, I’ve never seen you do _anything_ remotely that nasty.”

“You’ve only known me for a month!” Alexander fires back.

“One month, one week and three days.”

“Oh, that’s so much better! Newsflash, Eliza”- Alexander throws his hands up in the air- “I’m an asshole! I’m an unlovable asshole, why do you think I don’t have your name on my arm?”

Eliza’s eyes flash dangerously. “You have _chosen_ to try and love, so don’t you use that an excuse!”

“It’s the damn truth!”

“Not anymore it isn’t.”

They stand there for a moment, both breathing hard from the argument. The longer they stare at each other, the more Alexander can feel the anger dissipate from his body. He can see Eliza’s anger start to fall into what looks like a carefully constructed mask.

“I’m sorry,” Alexander breathes. “I… I know, you’re right. It’s just”- Alexander looks back at the door to the bar.- “That man brings a side of me out I don’t know very well.”

“You wanna tell me the story?” Eliza asks, her voice so carefully neutral. Alexander shoots one last glance at the door, but turns his back.

“No, it’s over. It doesn’t matter.”

Eliza bites her lip, looks at him carefully, and finally her face relaxes again. “Okay.”

\---------------

Alexander dreams of Jefferson one night.

When he meets Eliza for lunch the next day, he doesn’t dare tell her, but he can’t get it out of his head. It follows around him like a cloud.

\---------------

Eliza takes him shopping for Angelica’s birthday gift, she wants to get her a necklace that matches Eliza’s. While they’re in the jewelry store, Alexander catches her looking at the engagement rings. She tries to pretend like she wasn’t, but she most certainly was. Alexander looks at the one that caught her eye- a glittering blue gem in a silver band.

_It’s only been a couple of months,_ Alexander thinks. _Way too early._

_We are soulmates,_ he argues with himself. _Right?_

\---------------

Alexander’s Jefferson dreams get more frequent. They become detailed, the images playing in his sleeping mind become sharper and more clear. Alexander can hear his voice and feel his skin.

One night he catches himself going to bed _hoping_ to see the other man.

\--------------

Alexander buys the ring.

\--------------

Alexander’s dreams start to bleed over into daytime. No matter what he does, he can’t get Jefferson out of his head.

\--------------

The ring feels heavy in Alexander’s pocket as he knocks on Eliza’s front door. He carries it most places in case the right moment arises, but he can’t seem to find the right time. Maybe today’s the day?

Or maybe not. Eliza’s text had been cryptic. _Come over, there’s someone you need to meet_.

Eliza opens the door and Alexander smiles. Seeing her is always like a breath of fresh air. Eliza smiles back, but it’s small. He knows her well enough to know something’s wrong. Alexander feels his own grin start to slip.

Eliza leads him into her apartment, brings him into the kitchen where there’s another man sitting at the table. He’s ginger, his strawberry-red hair is the first thing Alexander notices. The second thing is his pushed up sleeve and the name written there.

“Alex, this is Alexander Hamilton.”

\--------------

Alexander doesn’t speak as the other Alex talks about how he searched the globe for his precious Elizabeth. He tries not to listen as they describe how it felt the first time they locked eyes. Eliza explains, through apologies, that it can’t compare to anything they ever shared.

She still loves him, she says. They can still be friends.

Alexander tries so hard to believe her. He knows she’s probably telling the truth, but his brain doesn’t seem to want to work anymore.

He gives the other Alexander the box with the ring, tells him he’ll probably need it.

\--------------

The hollowness is back. It’s worse than ever, actually. It’s all encompassing, filling his whole body with nothing but a deep void. For a while, Alexander didn’t think the numbness in his body would let him cry. And he doesn’t, holding back the tears until he stumbles into that same damn bar he used too.

He doesn’t even try to speak to anyone. There’s no one in this place that could possibly fill the emptiness inside him. No one but-

_No, you lost him too,_ Alexander thinks to himself, _you really are destined to die alone._ He silently takes his normal seat at the bar. The bartender takes one look at him and drops three shots of vodka on the counter in front of him.

Alexander doesn’t even want them.

He just sits there, stares into the still liquid as people laugh and drink around him. He feels like the whole world is in blur, the still air around him a protective bubble of still silence. Memories of Eliza, of Jefferson, of both of them swirl in his head.

He finally feels the tears start to roll down his face.

Alexander is a silent crier, he knows that. So he sits there, head bowed, throat closed tight as tears drop onto the counter. No one will notice him, he’s perfectly aware of that. Alexander just holds himself, his damnable right arm cradled into his stomach.

_This is what happens when you drink the Kool-Aid_.

“Where’s your _soulmate,_ Hamilton,” Jefferson sneers from behind Alexander. Alexander gasps, but that’s the only sound he makes. He bites down on anything else. “I asked you a question, or are you too good to talk to an unmarked now?”

“Please,” Alexander breathes out. “Please just… go.”

Jefferson goes silent behind him, and Alexander thinks for a moment the man did as asked. But then Jefferson sits down on the stool next to him and leans forward far enough that Alexander knows the other man sees his tears.

“What happened?” Jefferson asks, soft. Gentle. Alexander lets a bitter smile form.

“There’s another ‘Alexander Hamilton,’” he says. “One with her name.” Jefferson falls silent again, and for a second they just sit there. He notices when Jefferson slowly pulls the shots away from Alexander, but Alexander doesn’t care.

“I wasn’t going to drink those anyway,” he mutters.

“For the better,” Jefferson responds. Another beat of silence, then: “Do you want to talk about it?”

Alexander almost laughs. Talk about it? With _Jefferson_? “Is this a thing we do now? Talk?” He asks, drumming up a memory of a morning long ago. Jefferson shrugs.

“If you want to.”

Alexander sits there for a second, and then suddenly a thousand words are on his lips and he doesn’t know where to start.

“I loved her,” he croaks out. “I _love_ her. Oh god I love her so much. I made a fucking mistake, Thomas. I drank the fucking Kool-Aid and look who’s dead in Jonestown? It’s me. I did it. To myself. I’m so goddamned _stupid_. I… I was right. _I was right_. I’m unlovable and there’s nothing I can do to change that and- and- I tried to pretend. God, I knew!”

“You didn’t want to be right,” Thomas says, still quiet. Alexander drops his head onto the counter.

“I never should have tried,” he mutters. “I can’t… I can’t have anything, can I? I can’t have her, the loneliness hurts now, and…” Alexander trails, then decides _fuck it. I’ve got nothing left to lose_. “I can’t have you either.”

He stops, waiting for the other shoe to drop. When it does, it’s a near-silent: “What?”

“I can’t get you out of my head,” Alexander admits. His voice is strangely light, almost laughing at himself. “I’d be with Eliza just thinking about you and how I fucked up with you and now I’ve fucked up everything and I’m sorry.” Alexander tries to stop talking but the words just keep flowing now.

“I have dreams about you and most of the time it’s not even sex we just sorta live together and we’re happy and it’s so fucking sappy. We eat a lot of breakfasts, which doesn’t make sense most of the time, but maybe I’m trying to make up for _that_ breakfast, which was a damn mess. I stayed because I was going to end it but then we argued about plates and you kissed me and I was happy but I was too scared to be happy so I ran and then i got mad at myself and yelled at you and… yeah. I… that’s… I’m done.”

Alexander deflates against the bar. He wants the vodka now, so he can drink himself into oblivion and maybe never wake up. He doesn’t even look at Thomas, doesn’t want to see the man’s disgusted expression, can’t watch him walk away.

“I love you too.”

The admission, barely spoken, makes Alexander’s chest tighten. He shoots up, looking at Thomas with wide eyes. Thomas, for his part, is staring at the wall of beer in front of him, slowly hiking up his right sleeve. Thomas lays his bare arm on the counter for Alexander to read.

_Alexander Hamilton,_ in Thomas’ loopy handwriting.

“I’ve been… doing _that_ since that one morning you made breakfast,” Thomas explains. “Been trying to find a way to win you back. I spent every moment in France thinking about you and when I came back and you had her I…” Thomas clenches his fist. “Sorry about the drink in your face.”

Alexander’s throat tightens again, and he finds himself at a loss for words. They just look at each other for a moment, and then Thomas stands. He grabs Alexander’s hand and tugs him off the bar stool.

“Come on,” the taller man says. Alexander stumbles as Thomas pulls him out the door.

“Where are we going?” Alexander asks.

“Home.”

\----------------

Thomas takes him back to his place for the first time since Alexander walked out on him. Thomas feeds the shorter man, draws him a bath and even helps wash his hair. Every touch is gentle, every moment between them is heavy with what this means. Then Thomas carries Alexander to bed, tucking them both in and they just hold each other until they sleep.

There’s a conversation to be had in the morning, but that’s for the morning.

\---------------

When Alexander wakes up the next day, Thomas is still asleep and they’re still twisted around each other like vines. Thomas’ arms almost completely encase him, and for the first time in his life, Alexander does not itch. Not one single bit.

He smiles to himself, relishing in the feeling, and wiggles his way closer to Thomas. Alexander presses his body against the other man’s, feeling the warmth seep from the sleeping man. He feels full, satisfied, and a thousand other things erupting in his chest.

And Thomas, Thomas is gorgeous asleep. Alex could watch him sleep forever, could stay just like this for the rest of his life and not complain. He reaches up with the hand not trapped under his own body and almost traces the relaxed lines of Thomas’ face. But he realizes the touch might wake the other man and Alexander isn’t ready to let this moment go yet.

So he just plays with the loose curls he can reach, petting Thomas’ hair and running his fingers through it until the man next to him starts to stir. He hears Thomas’ breathing change, and then he cracks open his eyes slightly. The moment they focus on Alexander, they blow wide open, like Thomas is surprised he’s here.

“Morning,” Alexander mutters. Thomas’ eyes search his face before relaxing.

“Morning,” Thomas replies, voice gruff from sleep. But he smiles, and Alexander smiles back.

It takes them far too long to finally pull themselves apart and out from under the sheets. Alexander finds himself wearing one of Jefferson’s shirts like a nightgown, but doesn’t dare think of changing. They pad out to Thomas’ kitchen together, quietly content to be by each other’s side.

Thomas pulls out flour tortillas and Alexander rolls his eyes. “We’re doing it right this time,” Thomas insists. Alexander huffs, but willingly takes the knife Thomas offers him and goes to town on some peppers.

Working together, it’s not too long before they have a mini buffet in front of them. Thomas doesn’t like too many hash browns in his, Alexander learns. Neither does he use nearly the same amount of hot sauce Alexander does. Before they sit down, Alexander opens the fridge again, and stares for a moment.

“Got any Kool-Aid? I’m _craving_ it,” he asks.

Thomas breaks out into laughter so hard he cries.

\----------------

“Almost done,” Thomas murmurs, squeezing Alexander’s hand tight. Alexander grimaces as the needle pokes into his skin for what feels like the millionth time. He squeezes his fiance’s hand back as hard as he can, trying to alleviate some of the pain. Alexander tries to take deep breaths, but ends up unintentionally holding his breath instead.

Thomas’ own right arm rests on his lap, the protective plastic shining in the bright light. He’d gone first, Alexander had insisted. Thomas’ had taken a whole lot less time, it seemed, even though his name was shorter than Alexander’s.

After what seems like an eternity, Hercules finally sits back as examines his work. “Done, little dude.” Alexander gets out a sigh of relief, squeezing Thomas’ hand one last time before finally relaxing. Hercules does the final clean-ups, putting the wrappings on Alexander’s arm. Carefully, as if the new ink will distort and run if he moves too fast, Alexander picks up his arm and looks at the name now etched permanently into his skin.

_Thomas Jefferson_.

He looks up at the man himself, sees Thomas gazing at the name too. There’s a giddy grin on his face, one that makes Alexander smile too. Thomas catches him staring and explains: “I’ll never get over it.”

“Me neither,” Alexander says, using his other arm to point at Thomas’ own tattoo.

“Yeah yeah, you’re ‘official’ now. Get in line with the rest of us normies,” Hercules teases, though it’s kind. Alexander rolls his eyes as Hercules pulls out a couple of papers on how to care for their new marks. “The wedding’s in… five months, right?” He asks.

“Yep,” Alexander says. “We’ve got your invite, by the way.”

“About time.” Herc leads them through the basic instructions for care, and once he’s done he demands to see his invitation. When the laminated paper is in his hand, Herc whistles. “Used to say you’d never get married Alex.”

“Yeah, used to,” Alexander replies. “I… decided otherwise.”

Herc just rolls his eyes. “There’s gonna be an open bar, right? You two ain’t cheating your guests, right?”

Alexander smirks, and shares a look with Thomas. “We’re considering only serving Kool-Aid,” Thomas says. Herc looks between the two of them, disbelief in his eyes.

“Ya’ll unmarked are weird,” he grumbles. “There better be booze or I’m not coming.”

“Sure you’re not Herc,” Alexander teases. He looks down at his new tattoo again, still not quite believing it’s there. There’s a rush when he realizes that he’s finally got his soulmate.

And he picked Thomas Jefferson.

**Author's Note:**

> Admittedly, I took this as a fill for someone who dropped, and I don't really _do_ soulmate AU's so I just kinda... made that mess of pain and angst in the span of a week. Hope you still enjoyed it.


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